


Rubbing It In

by LibraOnFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M, Noncon witness, Other, wincest hater in a closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3184355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraOnFire/pseuds/LibraOnFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean brings a girl home. Wait, it's not what you think!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubbing It In

Her heart's in her throat, skin tight and burning with impotent anger and embarrassed disgust. Sweat prickles at her pulse points, seeps slick and oily through her hair. She's damp all over, hands shaking and back straight, aching to hunch over. But thick itchy ropes hold her back, keep her from stamping her feet or raising her hands to point with all the words she wishes she could form. Damn the mostly clean red work rag Dean stuffed in her mouth. 

“Gotta keep you quiet, sweetheart,” he'd explained with a smirk. “Sam gets stage fright.” He'd left her like that, gagged and bound to a sturdy wooden chair in the back of the closet. Then he'd shuffled a few shirts back across the bar, left the door slightly ajar so she'd have a clear view of the center of the room.

She had tried everything, twisted her wrists to get her hands free, tried tipping the chair in every direction, couldn't get a noise pass the cloth that clogged her mouth. She'd had to watch in silence, fuming, as Dean turned on the stereo to muffle what little noise made it out of the closet and set about slowly peeling off his clothes. She hated that it made her thighs clench, made something swoop low and warm in her belly when he stretched his naked form across the bed and stroked himself, winking at her. 

It'd been downhill from there. Sam had come in a few short minutes later at Dean's call, dropped his duffle bag with a reverberating thwump, and stared at his brother's naked body for all of five seconds. With a groan, he'd moved as if in a trance to kneel on the edge of the bed, unbuckled his belt and slowly pushed his jeans down his thighs. 

“Dean,” he'd whispered. “God, what you do to me.” Dean had been quick to help undress his little brother, Sam huffing out a laugh at Dean's eagerness. They'd kissed, mouths meeting and tongues slipping like secrets between them. It wasn't long before they were panting and moaning, and Sam was straddling Dean's hips.

She could barely stand it when Sam had been the one to draw away first, his big hands disappearing into the drawer of the nightstand and reappearing with a bottle of lubricant. Through the space between Sam's elbow and Dean's hip, Dean had shot her a wicked half-smile and she groaned around the rag. 

And she'd finally stilled, given in, as Sam's long fingers had spread himself open and Dean's cock disappeared into Sam's ass. For a few minutes, the only sound was the stereo and three heavy, humid, panting breaths. 

A rivulet of sweat drops into her right eye now and she shakes her head, squints both eyes. The current scene comes up watery and double. Two Sams ride two cocks, two hands on each of his hips. Too many legs are entangled now, and her head swims with the sounds of skin and praise and pleading. She hopes she passes out, hopes her breaths are too loud to skip the grand finale, but over the churning of her stomach, she sees and hears everything anyway.

“Sam, so good, I'm gonna--”

“Fuck yeah, do it, Christ, fill me up--”

Her vision clears and the image of Dean's dick pulsing in Sam's ass as Sam creams up Dean's stomach is one she'll have forever imprinted on the insides of her eyelids. No!, she tries to yell. This isn't right! You're brothers! She keeps trying to scream, can imagine her bonds breaking so she can pull them apart. They beat her to it. They separate themselves slowly, languid movements that rearrange them so Dean's head is resting on Sam's chest and they lie together, breaths evening out in soft huffs over a commercial for a car repair shop. 

It's so domestic, so normal, so right that she goes cold all over and her stomach turns. Bile burns at the back of her throat, she can feel the acidic yellow sting of it. Horrified, unable to spit out the rag or the thick fluid rising up out of her stomach, she feels the searing pressure of it as it projects out of the only alternative path. Snot and vomit run down from her burning nostrils and drips off her chin, soaks her shirt and thick gooey globs of it cling to the fabric of her jeans, warm and wet down the front of her. Tears streaming and throat convulsing, she realizes it's actually happened: 

Wincest has literally made her fuckin' puke on herself.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been quite a long time ago, but I remember some girl freaking out over the Wincest ship. She said something along the lines of, "Wincest makes me wanna fuckin' puke on myself!" And I just couldn't help myself. I wrote a Wincest thingy, with her in it. Of course, I'm not a complete jerk off, so I never let her know about it. But it's there for me to giggle to myself about. And now it's here for you, too. Enjoy. (Also, enjoy any excuse to write/read about Dean/Sam, amiright?!)


End file.
